ever after
by the blanket
Summary: CRACK. AU. SasuSakuIta. In which Sakura hates phallic symbols, and Sasuke finds himself in a spot of trouble.
1. shikamaru doesn't want to be here

**title: **ever after  
**pairing: **ItaSakuSasuSakuIta—it's like a CIRCLE with no END. A CYCLE, if you will.  
**for: **_Diaph Annie _and _XXDragonheart6XX_  
**prompted by:** a conversation with Annie, as well as the word _Sasucakes_, and and and, _mirror mirror on the wall_**  
summary:** CRACK. AU. SasuSakuIta. In which Sasuke makes a pretty princess, and Itachi peddles poisonous apples. Sakura hasn't quite made her entrance yet, and as for Shikamaru? He really doesn't want to be here.  
**warnings: **It's a parody. Of fairy tales. And I'm not a very big fan of traditional gender roles. Do I need to say more?

Also, I'm aware that the age difference between Sasuke and Itachi is _not_ nine years. I know.

**notes: **SEE IF YOU CAN PICK OUT ALL THE DISNEY REFERENCES!

It's like a game.

**disclaimer: **Not mine. :)

* * *

Once upon a time, in a Kingdom far far away, there lived a beautiful Princess—

Er, Prince.

Right, a Prince.

(Sort of.)

Though he'd been born in the midst of Summer's bloom, he was, peculiarly, the very personification of Winter. Lovelier than mere humble words could describe, he was a creature fair of face, with obsidian eyes, hair the color of midnight, and rose-red lips. His skin was the color of freshly-fallen snow, and his heart free from the desires that plagued those around him.

His was given the name Sasuke, but he was known by those who loved him, as Sasucakes.

Sasucakes was, in all respects, as happy a child as he could be, under the circumstances. Having grown up without a mother and father—killed in a tragic hunting accident only four years after Sasucakes himself was born—it would have been understandable that he grow up angry. However, he surpassed all expectation, taking his lot in life with a grace far past his years. He became a sunspot in the lives of the castle's inhabitants, and even, _beyond_.

From the time that he was a young child, all the small woodland animals that lived around the estate loved him, and they spent many a happy hour frolicking in the green meadows that surrounded the castle grounds. This was a fortunate arrangement for the young Princeling, since his beauty and gentle disposition—which should have, in all respects, endeared him to the hearts of all who knew him—served as nothing but causes for envy, and jealousy. The animals soon came to be his main source of companionship.

Chief among those who sought to do him harm, was a young man named Itachi, the next in the line of succession, and Sasucake's own brother. The reason for his antipathy was really, quite simple. Before his parents had died, they had seen the evil lurking within their oldest son and heir, and changed the Law, so Sasuke would be the direct successor to the throne. Itachi would rule as Prince Regent until his younger brother was of age, where upon he would allow Sasucakes to take his rightful place in the Circle of Life as Uchiha Fugaku's rightful heir, as the One True King of Pride Rock—

Er, as the King.

The proclamation, made when baby Sasucakes was but a wee three years old, made the twelve-year old Itachi seethe with rage. For a long time, he channeled this anger into completing his princely duties, excelling in both the classroom, and in the stateroom.

Then, he realized how much more fun he had simply spitting into baby Sasucakes's morning porridge, and decided that revenge would be better for his Immortal Soul.

Sasucakes knew none of this however—the first act Itachi passed upon his receiving the throne was to forbid anyone from telling the rightful heir that he was…er, the rightful heir. As such, the Princeling grew up ignorant of his destiny. He was stripped of his title, and forced to live in ignominy. Itachi handed him off to be raised by the kindly "servants" of the castle—or rather, those who'd upset the "King" during his reign, and were themselves forced into a life of servitude _"as punishment for your continued existence."_

All these continued, until one day…

-

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall! Who's the fairest—mirror? _Mirror_. Mirror, _wake up_."

A snort sounded from beyond the glass, and after a few moments, a translucent pineapple-shaped head shook itself from its stupor.

"God, _what do you want_? Every morning you ask me the same question, and—"

"Mirror, mirror," Itachi said loudly, drowning out the complaints with his own voice. His eyebrow twitched with irritation. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest one of all?"

"…"

Itachi waited a few moments. When no answer seemed forthcoming, he lost his carefully applied apathetic disposition, and slammed one fist into the glass, not shattering it, but thoroughly rattling the being inside it.

"Mirror! I would have your answer!"

The figure raised his own eyebrow, clearly stifling a yawn, and stared evenly at the enraged Queen—er, _King_.

"Look, I don't even want to be here."

Itachi inhaled, and exhaled, remembering the breathing exercises that had been drilled into him as a boy of five. It wouldn't do to punch through the glass—scars were just _so_ passé, he thought derisively, his mind drifting towards that thrice-damned Hyuuga who now worked in the stables.

Humph—_that _would teach the impertinent fool to have glossier hair.

"If you do not answer me in the thirty seconds after I finish speaking," Itachi began, almost conversationally, "I will move you to a room without windows and you will never see your beloved cumulous clouds _ever again_. In fact," he continued, almost inspired now, "I will move you into the servants' quarters—specifically into the room that those two catty little blondes share. You know—the ones who never stop arguing with each other."

For a moment, the translucent face looked almost alarmed. Then, it stopped, and smirked.

"Better than looking at your face for another day, Sir Second-Best."

Itachi, whose ears had filtered out everything except the word "best," preened for a few moments, before he realized what the mirror had said.

"_What,_" he said, grinding the word out from between gritted teeth. He put on his most Menacing Face, and employed the slanted lines that rang parallel to his nose to their most Majestic. Still, the Mirror Man looked unimpressed.

"It's true. According to my statistical analysis—"

"Your _what_," Itachi said in disbelief, deciding to inject their conversation with a pinch of Logic. "But you're a _mirror_."

If the figure had a hand to do it with, Itachi was sure it would have waved it in dismissal.

"Technicalities. Polls indicate that your approval rating has dropped twenty-two points since last month, and your darling brother Sasucakes is fast picking up your slack. Here, see for yourself, if you don't believe me."

There was a sudden _snap!_ and the face in the mirror was suddenly obscured by pie charts and bar graphs, as well as several interview transcripts conducted with everyone from the kitchen staff to the stable hands.

Itachi raised a brow.

"You're being oddly efficient this month," he remarked idly.

The figure snorted.

"Too many sunny days. What else was there to do? Anyway, as you can see," the voice continued, now slightly more disembodied, "your declining youth has been a factor in the recent slump."

"Yes, yes, of course, it all goes downhill after twenty, doesn't it," Itachi said listlessly, making a mental note to demote that loud doll-eyed thing in the Royal Guard to something appropriately demeaning. That green spandex was horribly tacky, after all—didn't do a thing for the upholstery in the watchtower.

Suddenly, he had a Thought.

"Second-best, you say? I'm second-best?"

"That's what they say, _your highness,_" the voice drawled, sounding decidedly indifferent.

"Who was ranked first," Itachi asked, trembling with anger. "Who dares to usurp my throne? Answer me, my Loyal Subject!" Itachi chose to ignore the fact that the boy was being held in that mirror against his will. Anyway, it was the Nara's own fault—who'd given him the permission to be so intelligent, anyway?

The Mirror Man—dubbed Shikamaru at birth—tried very hard not to drown in the Sea of Irony.

"You're certainly one to talk about usurping thrones," he muttered, before continuing in a louder voice. "The current favorite is your own brother, Uchiha Sasuke, better known as—"

-

"Sasucakes! Oh, Sasucakes! Where are you, sugar plum?"

* * *

Where indeed, Sasucakes?

And oh, Shikamaru, how I love thee.

Shorter chapters. The next one is being written as we speak.

And I should warn you that this is ALL **CRACK**.

So, let me know how you all like it, yes?


	2. sasuke's been feeling strange lately

**title: **ever after  
**pairing: **ItaSakuSasuSakuIta—it's like a CIRCLE with no END. A CYCLE, if you will.  
**for: **_annieberry _and _XXDragonheart6XX_  
**prompted by:** a conversation with Annie, as well as the word _Sasucakes_, and and and, _mirror mirror on the wall_  
**summary:** AU SasuSakuIta. Crack. In which Sasuke flushes fitfully, Shikamaru snarks snarkily, and Itachi plots prettily. Naruto just wants to know where the hearts keep coming from.  
**  
warnings: **It's a parody. Of fairy tales. And I'm not a very big fan of traditional gender roles. Do I need to say more?

Also, I'm aware that the age difference between Sasuke and Itachi is _not_ nine years. I know.

**notes: **I swear, I really do respect Itachi. I swear. I'm doing this out of love. Probably.

**disclaimer: **Not mine. :)

* * *

There was a rustling sound in the green windswept meadow, before a black-haired head bobbed up, adorned by a ring of flowers. Large, ink-black eyes blinked, as they adjusted to the sudden sunlight.

"Who's there," he asked, absently running a hand through his black hair to rid himself of the wreath of petals. There was a pink flush on his cheeks, and he rubbed at them irritably, squinting at the flash of sunbeams in his eyes.

His grey-haired nanny smiled benignly, lifting his skirts and stepping daintily, so as not to disturb the flowers.

"It's me, darling! Have you finished picking out the bouquets for tonight's ball?" His dark eyes were hidden by the sudden glare on his thick, wire glasses.

The banished prince sighed.

"Don't call me _darling, _Kabuto. Or Sasucakes. It's unbecoming of a man of my age," Sasuke said, waving a few twittering birds away with a pale hand. When they didn't retreat, he only sighed, allowing them to flail fitfully around his head as they wished.

Kabuto smiled benignly.

"Oh, but it's what we've called you all your life, Sasucakes. Why the sudden change?"

Sasuke sighed, and the breath seemed to carry with it the tinny sound of a thousand tiny violins.

"I've been feeling strange, lately," he began, arranging the clothing kindly assigned to him by the Benevolent Ruler—His Royal Prettiness, King Itachi—around himself in such a way that he didn't wrinkle it.

(Burlap was so very hard to iron after all, and he was only given one yard of twine in a month, so belts had to be rationed with care.)

Kabuto merely looked at him with a clinical eye, examining him for any signs of illness.

"Well, you are flushed," the would-be medic commented. "Maybe you've a fever."

Sasuke shook his head wearily.

"It isn't that sort of feeling. I can't explain it," he said, looking off into the distance, where a fawn was gallivanting with a grey-tufted bunny rabbit. A skunk joined the duo, and they scampered off into the woods, leaving Sasuke alone with his self-appointed nursemaid.

"Try," Kabuto said, moving to sit down next to him, after brushing off a swath of grass.

Sasuke opened his mouth to begin, before a whirlwind of bright orange barreled into the empty meadow, upsetting the flowers, and startling a few visiting monarch butterflies into taking flight.

"Hey, Sasucakes!"

Kabuto stifled a small chuckling sound as the junior butler, one Uzumaki Naruto—whom Itachi had banished for his _horrible tendency to spread disorder, not the least of which starts in his wardrobe_—skidded to an abrupt halt, plopping down next to the now disgruntled Sasuke with a heavy exhale.

"Whoo," he said, panting. "That was some run. But, then, I love exercise. I could have kept going," he blurted hastily, as though someone were questioning his state of fitness.

"Why didn't you," Sasuke asked, almost snidely. He'd long ago decided that he didn't much care for this boy. He didn't know why the blond continued to seek him out—he hardly encouraged their interaction.

"Aw, don't be like that, _Sasucakes_," Naruto said, drawing out the syllables so that they seemed reluctant to leave his lips. "I just wanted to see you."

"The feeling's unrequited, Uzumaki, and I'll thank you to stop calling me that name. What are you doing here, anyway? Your duties don't extend to this part of the grounds, you know."

Kabuto, seeing that he wasn't going to be acknowledged by the new arrival anytime soon, murmured an excuse to Sasuke, and hurried off to the castle to work on a poultice for Sasuke's red flush.

Naruto didn't even notice that he'd gone, too intent on badgering the quiet boy in the burlap sack.

"There was an invite from the kingdom of Konoha. They're holding a ball in a week's time, and everyone's invited! Even us servants!"

Sasuke's eyebrow arched in question.

"A ball," he repeated, almost doubtfully. "But, we're holding a banquet, tonight."

Naruto shook his head, clearly excited about the upcoming festivities.

"Cancelled," he said, as though he'd anticipated the question. "The King's got us all on notice—we're to prepare for departure all of tomorrow, and leave for the castle the day after."

Sasuke was silent, considering. A ball—he'd never been to a ball before. The closest he'd ever come to a night of music and dancing, was serving the King at the third anniversary of his crowning. He'd spilled the split-pea soup on him that night. Since then, he had been banished to the darkest corner of the attic for sleeping quarters, and relegated to only receiving the crustiest part of the bread loaf for his break of fast.

_Still, _he thought, _a ball_. It would be a change of pace, at least. Perhaps it would offset his sudden feelings of malaise—of not-quite belonging. He'd been feeling oddly lately—no longer content to frolic with the animals around the grounds. More quiet than usual, he'd taken to hiding out in his section of the attic after he'd completed his chores, content to sit in the darkness and wait for the day's end.

It was almost as though the things he'd once loved had been left behind, somehow, without his knowing—like a burlap sack he'd long outgrown.

Maybe this change would help.

"What's the ball for," he asked Naruto, who'd been watching his internal monologue with bored interest.

"I don't really know," the blond replied uncaringly. "The old bag's getting too senile to rule, or something, and she's auctioning her daughter off to the highest bidder."

"A daughter," Sasuke asked. "How old?"

Naruto shrugged.

"I don't really know—our age, I think."

"A princess, huh? What's her name," Sasuke asked, holding up a blade of grass so that it cut the sun in two. Naruto looked at him, eyes squinted.

"What's with you and all the questions," he asked irritably. "You can't honestly think she's going to pick _you_ over—"

"—over who? Itachi," Sasuke interrupted, suddenly irritated with the thought of their King. "So what? What's so great about him anyway? What if she does?"

Naruto sat up, bewildered. He wondered where the hostility was coming from, but it was different from their usual mock fights. This time, Sasuke actually sounded angry.

"What's up with you, Sasuke," he said, using the other boy's real name as a concession to his concern. "You're not acting like yourself."

"I'm not _feeling _like myself," Sasuke retorted peevishly.

"Well," Naruto said, standing up to brush himself off, "you'd better get over it. The King will never let you come along if you act like _that_."

"Why are we going, anyway? If she's a princess, shouldn't she be looking for a prince?"

"I don't really know," Naruto said, as he turned to walk away. "Boss says the old bat's a supporter of meritocracy."

Here, he made a face.

"Whatever _that _is."

"Meritocracy, huh," Sasuke murmured, almost remembering himself learn the word, a lifetime ago. He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. _That's ridiculous_, he told himself. He was a servant—who would take the time to teach him such things?

It still didn't explain how he knew what it meant.

"Yeah," Naruto said, nodding. "And true love. Girly stuff like that."

Suddenly, without warning, a flock of bluebirds circled Sasuke's head, forming a twittering halo of feathers and song. They arced up and over him, their wings fluttering a beat every minute, swirling in lazy patterns, until they finally converged, interweaving their paths of flight.

Naruto watched, rapt with attention, as they stopped, enclosing Sasuke in a very familiar shape.

"Er, Sasuke?"

"…what?"

"There's a…heart. Around your head."

A sigh.

"I know."

"…Does that happen a lot?"

"…yes. Well, no. It only started recently."

"…oh. I'm just…going to go now. Good luck with your," Naruto started, waving his hand at the spectacle around the other boy's head. After a few moments, his shoulders slumped. "Your _nesty _thing," he decided lamely.

"Hn."

-

"I hope you'll be all right by yourself," Itachi told his Magic Mirror blithely, not really caring one way or the other. "We'll probably be gone for a fortnight, if not longer. Women are surprisingly tetchy about their wedding planning after all," he finished, shaking his head at the irrationality of the _fairer _sex_. _

_Generally speaking, of course_, he told himself silently.

Shikamaru regarded him, clearly unimpressed.

"You're so sure that she's going to pick _you_, then," he asked uninterestedly, looking up at the golden gilded border that surrounded his plane mirror.

Itachi looked at him, derision clear in his eyes.

"Pray tell, who _else _would she choose."

The mirror snorted.

"How quickly we forget this morning's poll results."

The King looked at him shrewdly, eyes narrowed, but face otherwise unchanged.

"Are you suggesting," he began silkily, "that she might choose my foolish little brother over me?"

"Well, obviously," Shikamaru said. "What else would I be suggesting?"

Itachi considered this for a few moments, allowing the thought to run unfettered through his mind. Then, he shook his head slowly.

"Perhaps, I overestimated you, Nara Shikamaru. Perhaps, I have nothing to fear from your intelligence if you are prone to making propositions as absurd as that one."

"Does this mean you'll let me out of here," the boy in the mirror said, the barest note of interest obvious in his words.

"Not at all," Itachi said. "You amuse me, if nothing else. You've your uses."

They remained quiet for a few moments, Itachi in contemplation, and Shikamaru in resignation.

Then, Shikamaru had a Thought.

"This might sound _far-fetched_," Shikamaru stated, in a tone that clearly reflected his own disdain. "But, has it ever occurred to you that maybe, you _aren'__t_ every girl_'_s wet dream come to life?"

The King_'_s face did not change.

"Well, of course not."

"I see," Shikamaru said simply. "Never mind, then."

With a last withering look at his decidedly unhelpful oracle, Itachi turned away and called for his loyal retainer.

"Orochimaru!"

As he waited, his mind worked at Shikamaru_'_s suggestion of Sasuke winning the heart of some trollop-princess, and the Kingdom of Konoha, to boot. _No, _Itachi decided. That would _not _do. He was confident in his own ability to…_woo_, he decided, ignoring the way his mouth twisted into a sneer at the thought.

Still, it did not hurt to be sure.

A few beats passed before a tall, pale man with startlingly yellow eyes and long black hair came to the throne, bowing low at his Majesty's feet.

"You called for me, My Liege," he said, his mouth stretched into a queer smile.

An answering smirk formed on Itachi's thin lips.

"Yes_,_" he agreed quietly. "I did."

* * *

OMG WHAT IS HE PLANNING? WHY ARE THERE BIRDS AROUND SASU-CHAN'S PRETTY HEAD? WHAT'S WRONG WITH HIM?

D: D: D: D: D:

I have to figure out how long I want this to drag on. Not too long, hopefully.

So, yes! Plot snuck up on me, but there is still crack.

Review, yes?


	3. sakura hates pointless monikers

**title: **ever after**  
for: **_annieberry _and _XXDragonheart6XX_**  
prompted by:** a conversation with Annie, as well as the word _Sasucakes_, and and and, _mirror mirror on the wall_**  
summary:** AU. SasuSakuIta. which Sakura hates phallic symbols, and Sasuke finds himself in a spot of trouble.  
**warnings: **It's a parody. Of fairy tales. And I'm not a very big fan of traditional gender roles. Do I need to say more?

Also, I'm aware that the age difference between Sasuke and Itachi is _not_ nine years. I know.

**notes: **I am a selfish whore, but do feel free to _also _check out _Spice Jam_, which I have been graciously allowed to co-write with **Queen Pina **and **annieberry**.

Also, P.S.—I'm passive-aggressive. I address pet peeves with such subtlety that I astound even me. Except not really. We all know I'm shameless. Also, these are _my pet peeves_—not necessarily yours. Let's agree to disagree, yeah?

**disclaimer: **Not mine. :)

* * *

Sakura stomped around the cream-carpeted expanse of her room, glaring distastefully at the clear blue sky that seemed to mock her bad mood, stopping only momentarily to curl her small hands into equally small fists. She cursed every ancestor she could remember—as well as a few she made up for the occasion—for both choosing to build the royal suites in the highest spire of the manor's single tower, and for passing a law that forbade her to leave it until after her marriage had been "duly, doubly, and justly consummated".

Sakura suppressed a delicate shudder at the sight of the silken red bed sheets that were to be the site of her ruin.

"I hate any and all phallic symbols," she said to no one in particular, "and Great-Grandfather Whoever must have been compensating for something abysmal when he decided to build the tower this high off the ground."

She sighed, and walked to her bed, absently picking up an ermine-trimmed stuffed rabbit she'd been given at the tender age of three. The white fur was frayed around the edges, and the golden pocket watch had long since been marred by fingerprints and scratch marks, but the red coat was still vibrant and the wire glasses were still intact. Sakura allowed herself a small smile. If only all things could stay the same.

_But no,_ she thought bitterly, dropping the bunny back into its hallowed place near her pillows. _Mother feels she's getting too old to be leading, and now, she plans on selling me off to the highest bidder._

"I have no say," she continued aloud. "None at all! My life's nothing but a commodity, and I don't even get to choose the buyer!"

A low knock at the door alerted her to the presence of her advisor, and Sakura sighed.

"Come in," she said wearily.

Yuuhi Kurenai swept in with barely a breeze to announce her arrival. In stark contrast to Sakura's own mussed pink hair, and her bright green eyes, Kurenai's long brown locks were constrained by a fashionable up-do, and her red eyes were placid, and calm. She took in the sight of Sakura in her wrinkled white dressing gown with nary a word.

"Cherry Blossom," she began serenely, unruffled by her mistress's state of disarray. "You're due—"

"—please," Sakura interrupted rudely, ignoring Kurenai's pointed brow at her lapse in etiquette. "Please stop calling me that name. Please stop referring to me as a cherry blossom."

Now, in lieu of her previous disapproval, Kurenai had allowed for a brief smidgen of concern to cross her features.

"You were never bothered by it before, Cherry B—Your Majesty. If you'll forgive the impertinence, might I ask why you protest now?"

Sakura ran a hand through her hair—which only served to make it more disorderly—and fixed Kurenai with an unflinching stare.

"For my entire life," Sakura began, "I have been objectified." At Kurenai's immediate protest, Sakura raised a hand, a clear order for silence. "I have been called a Princess, as befits my station—but certainly not my character. I'm my Mother's Daughter. My hand-in-marriage is to be sold off—or won—like so much chattel, and my very womb is the property of my future husband. I've been locked away in a tower in the same way that equestrians hide their prime horseflesh, and I've been deconstructed into emeralds and ivory so many times that I fear my body's started to believe it—stiff and sore as it has been, lately," she added hastily, settling down into the covers of her bed.

"The point is, Lady Kurenai, I am at once stone, jewelry, and property. Might I be spared the terrible indignity of being referred to as a flower?"

There was silence for a while, as Kurenai seemed to weigh customary protocol against what Sakura had just said. Then, she spoke.

"Cherry Blossom, we must go over…"

Sakura felt her shoulders sag.

-

"What do you mean I've been banished?"

Sasuke felt his face twist into an unfamiliar expression of disbelief heavily tempered with bewilderment. It was an altogether unflattering portrait, considering the way his nostrils had flared, and his eyebrows had quirked and curved into previously undiscovered angles and arches. Almost distantly, he heard the whinnying of horses that signaled the departure of the wedding party.

Orochimaru smiled silkily.

"I am so sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Sasuke-kun," he said, making the s-sounds hiss so that they seemed to break off and form their own syllables. "But Itachi-sama has gotten word of your plot to overthrow him, and—"

"—plot? What plot?"

Sasuke had trouble suppressing the urge to gape. What? Was Orochimaru accusing him of high treason? Plotting against the King? He did not have much time to ruminate upon this, as it seemed his interruption had done nothing except slightly delay the rest of the royal minister's message.

"—he thinks it foolhardy at the very _least_ to reward such notions with the possibility of a kingship, even if it is to be obtained through the triumph of the victor over trials and tribulations, and therefore inherently unbiased." Orochimaru looked unmoved by what Sasuke was sure was a look of almost-pleading.

"Banished," he repeated softly, raising a hand up to grasp at Orochimaru's purple robes. He crinkled the material in his hands, so that they formed fists. "I can't—won't—I—"

"Did you see that," Orochimaru said softly, not taking his eyes away from the boy in front of him. He seemed to be speaking to someone in the shadows, and Sasuke resisted the urge to turn. It seemed it did not much matter. A slim form was slowly working its way out of the darkest corner of the small room. A quick glance confirmed it, and Sasuke tried very hard not to feel betrayed.

"I did, Orochimaru-sama," Kabuto said, almost regretfully, looking at Sasuke with cool disdain. "He tried to attack you. Note the hostility in the placement of his hands."

"Oh dear," Orochimaru said softly. "You were right, Kabuto. King Itachi will be most grateful." He snapped his fingers and two hulking guards made their way into the room, their small eyes trained on the figure that had yet to let go of the retainer's purple cloak.

Sasuke, for his part, realized what was coming. Immediately, he released Orochimaru, and faced his would-be attackers. Everything was happening so very quickly—he couldn't quite believe it.

"Is this seriously my life," he muttered, as he readied himself for battle. Unbidden, a fuzzy memory of him in a dojo with a white _gi_ came back to him, and unconsciously, he allowed his hands to splay open, and his stance to widen to help preserve balance. He hoped it would be enough to keep himself safe—knew instinctively that it would not.

Orochimaru and Kabuto stepped back into the corner, content to watch Sakon and Ukon do their part.

"I do not think, Sasuke-kun," Kabuto said softly, even as the sun glinted off his glasses and rendered his eyes unreadable. "I do not think that a poultice will be quite enough to pull you out of this one. Forgive me?"

Before Sasuke could reply, Sakon lunged, and the black-haired boy saw nothing but a smear of blood red.

-

"Cherry Blossom! Cherry Blossom! Are you ready? King Itachi and his retinue should be here at any moment!" Tsunade did not look up as she spoke, trusting her erstwhile daughter to heed her without question. She busied herself with stamping the last of her paperwork without looking at it, and taking a swig from the ever-present bottle of _umeshu _she kept close to her side.

_It was the beginning of a new era_, she thought to herself smugly. Sakura was almost sixteen years old. It was high time for her to start accepting her fate as the future ruler.

She continued to work, even as she heard the ornate double door entrance to her office swing open, and the tell-tale _click-clack_ of heels that signaled her daughter's approach.

"Hello, Mother. I've gotten myself all flavored with lavender and rosemary, and my skin's been buffed to a flatteringly pink sort of tenderness. Would you like for me to throw myself into the oven until I've turned a golden brown? Because I'm about to—it'd be preferable to this travesty waiting to happen."

Tsunade did not even flinch.

"Hello, darling. Are you all set? Wearing the white dress we had made a few weeks ago when we announced the festival?"

The queen thought she heard the girl sigh, but dismissed it. What could Sakura possibly have to be unhappy about? Tsunade quickly inspected her, and, upon finding nothing wanting, dismissed Sakura just as easily.

"Ah! Good. You've worn my old emeralds. They do match your eyes, dear heart."

"I know, Mother. You've told me, a few hundred times," she said, lowering her voice on the last four words.

"What was that?" Tsunade asked, finally raising her head to look her daughter in the eyes.

"Nothing, Mother."

Tsunade was saved from any other quips by the timely arrival of a servant.

"Your Majesty," the footman intoned drolly, "King Itachi and his retinue have just been sighted at the borders."

Tsunade nodded approvingly, looking at the golden, gilded grandfather clock standing in state near the entrance to her office. She'd always liked punctuality in a man—it was always nice to know that they'd be coming when they said they would. She made a check in her mental black book. King Itachi was looking quite fine, in her opinion.

She turned to Sakura, who had been absently arranging her skirts.

"Well, daughter. Let's go, shall we?"

-

The first thing Sasuke registered when he awoke was the warm, moist pressure against his right cheek. He hissed, and started to rise from where he'd been on his back, only to be stopped by an insistent hand.

"You should stay where you are," the owner of the limb drawled laconically. "You're not quite healed yet, and you need to be, for what's coming."

Sasuke, who'd succumbed to the hand's insistent pleasure, tried to reply, but could not get past the parched dryness of his throat. He looked up, blinking blearily at the man above him, but could not make anything out beyond what appeared to be a black face mask that obscured most of his features, and a shock of white-gray hair.

"Who…who," he rasped, hoping he'd be understood.

The figure's one visible eye crinkled, and Sasuke wondered if he was smiling.

"I," he said simply, "am your Fairy Godfather."

* * *

BUT WHO?

I hope it's fairly obvious. :)

More to come!


End file.
